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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001610">the satirist's love song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvthevalleyoh/pseuds/iluvthevalleyoh'>iluvthevalleyoh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(i retell it by including flashbacks to stuff with kokichi and shuichi idk), Angst, Assisted Suicide, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Free Time Events (Dangan Ronpa), Heavy Angst, I cried writing this, M/M, Oma Kokichi-centric, Pining, Slight Canon Divergence, a lot of it, but i retell it, lol, the chapter 5 killing basically</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:28:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvthevalleyoh/pseuds/iluvthevalleyoh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Today’s your last chance, okaaaay Shuichi?” Kokichi sing-songed, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “We’re gonna play the final game today!”</p><p>(Kokichi braced himself, pushing a hand against the side of the hydraulic press, standing like he was about to throw up. He really didn’t want to be remembering this right now.)</p><p>Shuichi raked his hair through his fingers anxiously, sitting down across from Kokichi. “Okay… what’s the final game?”</p><p>Kokichi grabbed something slender and sharp from his lap. “Do you know what the knife game is, Shuichi?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the satirist's love song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>song referenced is "the satirist's love song" by lemon demon. if you want it to hit harder, i recommend listening to the song beforehand or at least reading the lyrics. you dont have to though</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
The Satirist’s Love Song <em>is sung from the perspective of an individual who claims the relationship they had with their ex-lover wasn’t anything more than a long joke to them, a ‘work of satire.’ They explain how the relationship meant nothing to them in the end, and that their partner was stupid for ever assuming it was anything serious.† </em>
</p><p>
-
</p><p>
The press was incredibly loud. For what was supposed to be such a high-tech school, the hydraulic machine creaked and groaned with what sounded like years’ worth of rust and wear. It was painfully slow, too- it gave Kokichi some not-so-great thoughts about what would happen in just a few minutes. 
</p><p>
He took a glance into the camera’s viewfinder, hand hovering over the <em>force stop </em>button… the right place to pause everything was almost in frame. He was about to end the killing game; and what a plan it was. The final piece of it all was the chance that Shuichi would be able to solve it- <em>it </em>being the most perfect crime imaginable. Kokichi knew he could. Of course he could, he’s fucking Shuichi Saihara; and Kokichi wasn’t at <em>all</em> upset that he wouldn’t get to see him do it. Kokichi’s only regret was not being able to kill himself sooner. 
</p><p>
(Maybe he had other regrets, like not ever being straightforward enough with Saihara, who was too oblivious to read between the lines. He forced these thoughts into the back of his mind, into his subconscious. He didn’t <em>have</em> to think about his feelings for Shuichi, not if it was all a joke to begin with. Maybe those feelings were just part of his plan. Yeah, that’s it. He just forgot to write that down in his notes. If it’s part of his plan, he decided, it couldn’t be a regret. It was all on purpose.)
</p><p>
(If it had been part of his plan, he would have forgiven Miu, and he didn’t at all wish she were there in the hangar so he could apologize.)
</p><p>
The idea ran through his head that he could just let the press kill Kaito- it’s not like he would have time to react- but he quickly brushed it off. He would rather be crushed at his own will than die by Monokuma’s hand in whatever elaborate torture chamber he had set up for him; and giving up on his goal in the last five minutes because he was <em>afraid </em>would be worse than death. If Kokichi didn’t die, right here, right now, everyone else would. That thought hurt more than any amount of damage the press could do to his small body. 
</p><p>
He watched the press obscure the last discernible portion of Kaito and slammed on the stop button, simultaneously pausing the camcorder. He let out a sigh of relief, breath shaking because he knew what came next. He felt like he was about to give a finale performance at a high-class concert, nerves on edge and blood rushing so fast he thought his heart might explode. 
</p><p>
Kaito spoke from under the press’ huge plate. “Did you get it, Ouma?”
</p><p>
Kokichi exhaled and was suddenly hyper-aware of the bleeding wounds on his arm and chest. “Yeah… I got it.”
</p><p>
Kaito slid himself out from the machine and ran up to the control panel to help the impaired Kokichi down. <em>How ironic, </em>Kokichi thought, <em>that he’s helping me get to the press that will kill me. </em>
</p><p>
“Jesus, Ouma, you’re bleeding a lot,” Kaito remarked after setting a hand on Kokichi’s back to move him along. The words gave Kokichi deja vu, he felt them gather up in his throat and nearly choke him. He didn’t know if it was the poison or the crossbow wounds, but everything he did and everything he thought felt like it was pushing him closer to the verge of death. 
</p><p>
<em>“Today’s your last chance, </em>okaaaay <em>Shuichi?” Kokichi sing-songed, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “We’re gonna play the final game today!”</em>
</p><p>
Kokichi braced himself, pushing a hand against the side of the hydraulic press, standing like he was about to throw up. He really didn’t want to be remembering this right now.
</p><p>
<em>Shuichi raked his hair through his fingers anxiously, sitting down across from Kokichi. “Okay… what’s the final game?”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Kokichi grabbed something slender and sharp from his lap. “Do you know what the knife game is, Shuichi?” he asked, waving the knife around in the air precariously. Shuichi recoiled, leaning back in his chair to avoid the weapon swinging in his face.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Kokichi, be careful!” he exclaimed, holding his hands out in fear. Kokichi laughed maniacally, setting the knife down on the table. Regaining composure, Shuichi sat back up. “What’s… what’s the knife game?”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Kokichi gasped. “I can’t believe my beloved detective doesn’t know what the knife game is! Did you not learn it in detective school?”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Kokichi, there’s no such thing as detecti-”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Ooookay, sobasically,” Kokichi interrupted, stringing his words together. “You spread your hand out on the table like this…” he slammed his palm on the table, spreading out his small fingers. “And then, take the knife… hold it like this...” he picked it up slowly, keeping Shuichi on edge, who was terrified of what came next. “And then, you stab!”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“</em>What?!” <em>Shuichi yelled as Kokichi whammed the knife between his fingers, watching intently as it </em>taptaptapped <em>between each of his digits. “Holy shit, Kokichi, stop!” Shuichi said, reaching out to grab Kokichi’s wrist- but it threw him off. The moment slowed to a crawl as Shuichi bumped his hand, watching the knife drift sideways and land square into the middle of Kokichi’s finger. Kokichi dropped the knife instantly; it fell to the side and left them both staring in shock at the hand gushing blood.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Oh my God. Holy shit. Stay here,” Shuichi said, running off to find a first-aid kit. Kokichi waited, lifting his hand to inspect the wound. It went nearly exactly as he thought it would. </em>
</p><p>
<em>Shuichi returned, bandages and a damp washcloth in hand. He gently took Kokichi’s wrist. "Jesus, Ouma, you're bleeding a lot."</em>
</p><p>
Fuck.
</p><p>
<em>"Be still, okay? This might hurt.” He glanced up to Kokichi, who wore a sly grin. “Kokichi. Tell me you’ll be still.”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Ooookay, fine,” Kokichi exaggerated, rolling his eyes comically. Content with the response, Shuichi lightly cleaned the cut with the cloth. Kokichi seethed in pain. “Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou!” he wheezed, pounding his other fist on the table.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“I told you it would hurt,” Shuichi said, setting down the bloodied washcloth and beginning to apply bandages to Kokichi’s hand. “What made you think that awful game was a good idea, Kokichi?” he asked as he slowly wrapped gauze around the finger.</em>
</p><p>
<em>"It was all part of my plan!" Kokichi smiled again. “You’re </em>soooo<em> worried about me, Shuichi. Look at you. I reached my goal! I killed you!”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Shuichi made a confused face, laughing awkwardly. “You didn’t kill me. I’m right here.”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“I made you die with worry! Look, you’re tending to my terrible wounds… I stole your heart. I don’t need to steal your life anymore.”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“What? Kokichi, I-”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Remember the first time we did this? Our first game? When I said I’d kill you… you couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you?” Kokichi leaned over the table, hand completely bandaged up. “Now you know how I feel!”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“What? Why are you saying that? Kokichi, I’m confused.”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Kokichi tensed, if only momentarily, and sat back in the chair. “Just kidding! That was a lie!” It came out sounding natural enough, but it couldn’t have felt more foreign to say. He wasn’t </em>technically<em> lying about lying, he really hadn’t ever wanted to kill Shuichi, but he left that specification out. </em>
</p><p>
<em>“O-oh… okay,” Shuichi muttered. Kokichi couldn’t tell if he was upset or embarrassed. “Hand feeling better?”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“No! I feel like it’s gonna fall off!” Kokichi cried out, before holding his hands behind his head. “Just kidding! Are you sure you’re not the Ultimate Nurse, Shuichi?”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Shuichi flustered a little at that, looking down. “Kokichi…”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“What, Shumai?” Kokichi said mockingly.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“I don’t understand you.”</em>
</p><p>
<em>Something in Kokichi’s heart died a little. “Whaddaya mean, Shuichi? You don’t understand how a supreme leader, such as myself, can have such devastatingly good looks?” he said with a flourish, masking his disappointment.</em>
</p><p>
<em>“Stop kidding around! I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake with you!” Shuichi held his head in his hands like he had a migraine. He stood up suddenly, pushing his chair out. “I... I’m going back to my room.” </em>
</p><p>
<em>Shuichi, red-faced, stormed out of the dining hall with his fists clenched. When the clicking of footsteps ceased and he heard the door swing shut, Kokichi collapsed, falling face-first into the table with his arms sprawled out. He let out a quiet sob before disciplining himself and sucked in a long breath, sitting back up. </em>
</p><p>
<em>What an idiot he was; Kokichi </em>knew <em>how Shuichi thought and he </em>knew <em>Shuichi never understood his jokes, but he still kept up his stupid persona. He had to, though… if Shuichi didn’t hate him, how would his grand scheme ever work? Kokichi berated himself for coming up with a plan that needed everyone to hate him. </em>
</p><p>
<em>Maybe he could just hate them back. It wouldn’t be real hate, of course, if it was then he wouldn’t be trying to save their sorry asses in the first place. But he supposed he could just drop the playfully childish act, even if it was the closest to Kokichi's real personality. Maybe it was for the best; he didn’t want them hating the real him. That way it wouldn’t hurt as much, he thought. If they hated a made up person… Kokichi didn’t have to lose sleep thinking about how they resented him.</em>
</p><p>
Kokichi shuddered, crawling into the press and handing Kaito his clothes. He sprawled himself out on Kaito’s coat, being sure to place his arm precisely as the astronaut had just moments before. He stared up at the huge metal plate looming just a foot above him, and for the first time since the killing game began he felt pure, unadulterated terror. Kokichi hyperventilated, listening to Kaito’s footsteps soften, before hearing the telltale creak of the steps leading to the control panel. 
</p><p>
He sobbed, feeling warm tears form in the corners of his eyes. “Fuck,” he whimpered, shaking uncontrollably. Kaito must’ve heard him.
</p><p>
“Are you sure you want me to do this, Ouma? This is kind of... insane.”
</p><p>
Kokichi wailed. “<em>Yes, just fucking do it already! Kill me, cunt!” </em>The words came out interspersed with choking and sounds of the rawest emotion Kaito had ever heard the liar express.<em> “Kill me or your girlfriend’s gonna fucking get it!”</em>
</p><p>
“Okay, jeez,” Kaito muttered. Kokichi swore he heard his breath catch. If it did, it’s not like Kaito would’ve ever admitted it. “I’m doing it.”
</p><p>
“Wait,” Kokichi heaved, words weaker than ever. “Make sure he solves it, okay? Stick to the script.”
</p><p>
Kaito held his hand over the button, staring down at it. “Yeah, ‘course I will. My sidekick can do anything.”
</p><p>
The last of Kokichi’s heart shriveled. <em>His sidekick, not mine. </em>“I know he can,” he whispered, blubbering, feeling the tears dampen the coat that lay beneath him. 
</p><p>
Kaito pressed the on switch and started the video. The machine whirred and hummed and <em>hissed </em>with the volume of a jet plane. Kokichi watched it slowly begin to descend. It felt like hours. His mind wandered to Shuichi.
</p><p>
<em>I hate Shuichi Saihara, </em>he thought. <em>Fuck Shuichi Saihara.</em>
</p><p>
The press was close now. Uncomfortably close. The distance only kept shrinking. 
</p><p>
<em>“Be still, okay, Kokichi? I need you to be still for me.”</em>
</p><p>
Kokichi heard himself screaming, but he did nothing to stop it. He probably couldn’t stop if he tried.
</p><p>
<em>I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I love-</em>
</p><p>
The deafening sounds of machinery were gone in an instant. The now red-stained plates rested against one another, never to be pried apart again.
</p><p>
-
</p><p>
†Addendum: <em>It’s unclear whether the lyrics to </em>The Satirist’s Love Song <em>are genuine, or are intended to cover up for the singer’s hurt feelings. It’s generally assumed they were left ambiguous on purpose.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello, reader! i just created a twitter for my ao3 stuff. follow me @ iluvthevalley0h ❤️<br/>- jan 16 2021</p></blockquote></div></div>
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